


it's always been, so it's no surprise

by amare



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, Oral Sex, Stephanie Rogers - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, girl!steve - Freeform, post-serum Steve (Steph)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amare/pseuds/amare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've been wondering since you got here," he continued conversationally, "just how much you've changed." Girl!Steve/Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's always been, so it's no surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana Del Rey. 
> 
> I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.

Bucky's hand went to the small of her back the minute the coast was clear. Steph was perspiring under her stiff uniform—the one she wore for the cameras with its scandalously short skirt, not the version she wore in combat. That one had pants and, if she tucked her hair up into her helmet, made her look like a boy from any distance over two yards.  
  
"Buck," she said in warning, craning over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed them into the barracks.  
  
"Relax, everyone's out for PT." His hand smoothed over her waist, and another joined it. Bucky seemed to be testing the span of her body right above her hips, which looked impressive in the skirt. Even without it, the change from her old body, almost small enough for him to touch index fingers and thumbs around the circumference of her waist, was remarkable.  
  
"Yeah, and everyone's going to notice we're not," she huffed, but she didn't slap his hands away. One finger traced patterns she could feel even through the stuffy material, near the waistband of her skirt.  
  
 _Weeks_ since they'd formed the Howling Commandos, she could count the number of minutes they'd spent alone together on her sensibly manicured fingers—another allowance for the camera, along with the pin curls and the oily red lipstick and the hairspray that seemed to follow her around in a cloud. First she barely thought of it, too relieved to find Bucky alive and mostly unharmed, but then the distance between them wasn't easily bridged. He was quiet, she was awkward and kept trying to make eye contact with someone the wrong height.  
  
She thought for a while he was too put off by her now, or that the war made him re-prioritize, and then eventually just assumed he was stinking mad she'd found her way into the war after all. Turned out it was all of it, at least a little, but mostly just a glaring lack of opportunity.  
  
"You're taller than me in those pumps," he said wonderingly, staring down at them, and she rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'm as tall as you out of them," she said, knowing it would rankle, and sure enough he used his hands on her waist to turn her to him.  
  
Bucky's right eyebrow was hitched up, and the corner of his mouth was curled to match it. "You're a dirty liar, Rogers."  
  
 _Captain Rogers_ , she nearly said, but their footing was tenuous enough. She thought being dragged off to the Commandos' empty barracks was a clear signal, but a year without Bucky, and everything that had changed, made her bite her tongue.  
  
"Let me take them off and we'll see who's taller," she challenged, and Bucky released her waist so she could sit in one of the lower bunks and unfasten the damned tottery heels.  
  
"I'll do it," Bucky said, and before she could give him a startled look he was dropping to one knee, creasing his smart-looking uniform pants.  
  
He smoothed his palms over her legs, but just the calves, calluses catching on the material of the fine stockings Steph had no business wearing, tugging gently at her ankle until she extended her leg and let his fingers work the clasp. The heel was ruby red and shiny, tall enough to threaten even her enhanced balance. She looked like one of the dancing girls in the getup, which was the point—she was _the_ dancing girl, Captain America to head up a chorus line of well-choreographed soldiers. Wearing the heels on stage five nights a week while shilling bonds gave her some dexterity with them, but Steph only ever donned now them to waltz around the camp for more prized footage of Cap and her commandos and seemed to have lost the knack for it.  
  
"Look at those gams," Bucky said, low and appreciative but still arching an eyebrow at her.  
  
Steph felt like a pumpkin being apprised for its remarkable size at the state fair, and he must have picked up on it. He didn't say anything, but he pulled the shoe off gently and rubbed the ball of her foot as she stretched her toes.  
  
"Are you going to gawk at me all day?"  
  
"I'm thinkin' about it," he said, honest and grinning, and he ducked his head to pull her other leg toward him and work on that clasp next. "I've got a lot of ground to cover."  
  
"Not much time to do it in," Steph said.  
  
Bucky chuckled and started rubbing her other foot. "No one's gonna come in," he promised. His strong thumbs pressing a line up her sole made Steph want to shudder. The position was a little awkward for both of them, Steph's legs outstretched and balancing on Bucky's tense thigh, but Bucky seemed in no hurry to move.  
  
"I've been wondering since you got here," he continued conversationally, working back to her heel and probably enjoying the way her eyes went heavy lidded. "Just how much you've changed."  
  
The words made her tense a little, but the tone and the sly way he looked at her, blue eyes and slicked hair like a movie star, had her sigh back, "Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. Like … I wonder if your pussy tastes the same. If it's still so damn sweet."  
  
Bucky said it plainly, filling the space between them with tension as quickly as gunfire would have. This was another type of tension entirely, a type that made Steph's whole body rigid and then giddy with a sudden rush of blood.  
  
She couldn't even chide him. He'd lit her up with two sentences, and he knew it. The months between them ached, and the recent days even more so, until the curious exploration of his fingers inching up her thigh felt like a whole lot more than what it actually was.  
  
"Bucky," she said, and his long arm stretched so his hand could disappear up the flippy hem of her skirt. He cupped her where she was warm and getting warmer, through layers of army-issued underwear and those stockings someone had procured.  
  
"What about it? You still sweet for me, Steph?"

He carefully positioned her and leaned forward until he was between her thighs, skirt hiding his index and pointer finger as he slid them across her cloth-covered seam.  
  
Bucky used to say crazy stuff all the time, but the sharp combination of embarrassment and want had faded some in her memory. Her face was on fire under the pancake makeup.  
  
"Lie back," he urged her, and she dropped onto her elbows. "I gotta get these off." 

He wasn't very careful with the stockings, and he left them in a ball on the floor, but Steph didn't care. Her legs were shaking, and Bucky was kissing up the inside of her bare thigh, peering up at her with a lock of hair falling from its waxed hold.  
  
The bodice of her costume felt too tight now, her breasts—twice their previous size, which had taken a few gawking minutes to get used to once she had some privacy and a mirror—pushing against the fabric with each breath.  
  
Bucky's head disappeared under the skirt, his hands guiding her thighs open the rest of the way. She felt him drag his lips against the highest part of her thigh, and for one overwhelmed moment slammed her eyes shut. It was too easy to disappear that way, though, to forget the uncomfortable cot she was practically hanging off wasn't one of their beds back in Brooklyn. That Bucky was hooking his fingers in her underwear and sliding them down a year ago, two years ago, eager to put his mouth to use and silencing his stream of blue chatter.  
  
Steph opened her eyes again and widened them a second later when Bucky kissed her flat-out, mouth closed, like the way he first started in gently before they really started necking.  
  
He brushed his mouth against her, still with his lips closed, and Steph's shoulders were starting to burn from her position, but she stayed braced where she was. He started licking her, kittenish, until his own patience ran out and he licked _into_ her, right into the core of her as deep as he could get.  
  
She remembered in a rush how much time he'd spent doing this before, when she was smaller, long nights with him kissing her there, Steph grabbing the pillows by her head with streaks of graphite on her hands. In the here and now, Bucky's jaw worked to push his tongue into the tight clench of her. She knew if he gave her clitoris the soft, lazy swipes of his tongue he liked to, until she was swollen and pulling his hair, she'd come before she knew what was happening.  
  
He started to do just that, licking up the slit of her, then flicking his tongue out at the tight bud of her clitoris like a hello. She made a strangled sound and pushed at his head. Her hands tended to get awfully impolite when he was doing that. Not being able to see him under the cover of her skirt didn't really slow her down.  
  
"Bucky, no, I'm—"  
  
He pursed his lips and sucked, gentle, and she pulsed and throbbed and did her best to restrain the noise in the tin shack of the barracks as she came.  
  
Steph gave a long, slow exhale and blinked up at the underside of the bunk above her, its tightly coiled metal springs betraying how uncomfortable it was. Her blood pounded in her ears like she'd jogged the perimeter of the camp, long legs carrying her faster and further than everyone else, even Bucky choking on her dust.

"Still so sweet," he said, mostly a whisper that hit sensitive skin and prickled goosebumps on her thighs in its wake.  
  
He came out from under her skirt and it finally laid flat instead of like some circus tent. Her orgasm left her a little lightheaded, but the drowsy feeling that used to dog her afterward was gone quickly, and her pulse stuttered when Bucky casually wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.  
  
"Always a gentleman," she said wryly as he leaned up to kiss her again for the first time in a year.

Whatever smart reply he buried in her mouth, a choked off moan in his throat, and he wound his hands into her hair, testing the feel of a springy curl around his finger. His face so close meant she could hear the muffled sounds of his breathing through his nose, the soft, wet sounds of his reddened mouth working with hers. Steph slid her hands down his back, bunching the fabric of his uniform to slip underneath and get a glancing touch of warm bare skin. The familiar flavor of him, the hint of her slight tang on his tongue, was gone too quickly.

Bucky pulled away and reared up above her again, and his hands tore at the buttons and fastenings of her bodice. It was a testament to the fabric that it didn't rip. He stopped for a minute when he got her down to her brassier, the top of the costume not even off all the way.  
  
"Christ, they're huge now," he said, brow creasing over narrowed eyes as he studied her a few beats too long for comfort.  
  
"Gee, thanks." He shook his head and dove down to kiss the side of her neck, and one hand experimentally fit itself around her breast, fingers flexing. She arched her neck so he could really get at it, scraping it with his teeth. "You're really—letting me feel the romance, Barnes."  
  
"You picked the wrong guy for romance," he said, somehow managing to work his hand beneath her bra and touch her for real. He thumbed her nipple, and she jerked in a way she wouldn't likely call appealing. The pink coin of her nipple tightened up so fast it was nearly painful. It was a hook of sensation, a lightning rod that seemed directly connected to her groin. "You want romance, go find some French guy who digs poetry."  
  
" _You_ like poetry," Steph said, and Bucky shut her up with his mouth, hot and open and with the same slightly jagged edge of a tooth he'd gotten in a fight near the docks. His body didn't sport much evidence of the scrapes he'd been in on her behalf, defending her when _you got a big mouth for such a little lady_ got her into hot water, or just drunken brawls he mostly grew out of by the time he was shipped off. What little there was only served to remind her of who she was doing this with, who she'd always done this with.  
  
"Shit, Steph," Bucky groaned, and she heard him fumble with his belt and felt it too, they were pressed so close.  
  
"You have a prophylactic?"  
  
"Do I got a prophylactic, she asks," Bucky said, shimmying out of his pants in a way that should have looked completely ridiculous and giving her an exasperated look. "Like I haven't been carrying them around in my pocket since that night you arm-wrestled Morita outta two bucks."

They'd never slept together without one, which Steph thought was sensible and Bucky seemed to embrace with a desperate sort of relief. When she was sickly, smaller, he was hesitant about doing it at all, and it was only when she put the rubber packet in his hand and all but demanded it that he acquiesced. They both knew how fast a mistake would change the thing they had together. Broke sweethearts to broke newlyweds, and Steph didn't want a baby during the war. Bucky had this clench to his jaw that meant he thought the entire idea of babies was impossible.  
  
Now, though, with her healthier than a horse and with hips that didn't look like they could snap in a brisk wind, he might not panic if he felt the rubber slip. Might not stop and ask in the middle if she could breathe all right, if he was hurting her somehow. If she needed another pillow.  
  
Bucky made quick work of putting it on, and when he clamored onto the cot, hips canted and hand around his dick to guide his way in, she slid her fingers through his hair, unmindful of the wax. His eyes were wild when they met hers, and she felt the blunt head of him against her, pushing her open for him.  
  
His mouth fell open and his face looked pained when he finally slid inside, a feeling that was usually tight with a sweet, achy edge to it just a long moment of relief. Now she felt filled instead of stretched. Bucky's teeth gritted as he moved his hips for the first real thrust, and he kissed the flat of her palm as she stroked the side of his handsome face. Her hand was tacky from the wax, but neither of them cared.  
  
It started to build in her with each snap of his hips. Bucky could move so fluidly, so gracefully when he wanted to, the precision and steadiness that he used behind his rifle scope put to a whole new use on her body. But neither of them had the patience for precision and steadiness; Bucky's wet slide in and out was losing rhythm fast, and Steph squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of their bodies, her arms around his neck, holding him as flush to her as he could get.  
  
"Oh, oh, shit, Steph," Bucky was mumbling, hot curses against her neck.  
  
Her legs hitched up around his hips with plenty of room left to cross them was another anomaly, something new to adjust to. Used to be if he thrust this hard, he nearly pushed her up off the bed, but now she stayed where she was. She felt like an anchor for once instead of an albatross.  
  
Bucky inhaled sharply and shuddered through his orgasm, pieces of a moan tumbling from his mouth as she hushed him through it. In ten minutes, once the glow'd worn off, he'd start making jokes about their lack of staying power, about what this new body of hers did to rev his engine. But for now the idea of him going off so quick was enough to nearly get her there again.  
  
What actually did it was Bucky's careful but practiced hand rubbing over her where she was already tender, his blue blue eyes staring down at her, soft and awed. She nearly unseated him with her writhing.  
  
Bucky was nuzzling the side of her neck and looking too pleased with himself when she finally came back to herself all the way. When he saw that her gaze was on him, he smirked. Bucky was rumpled, hair sticking up at twenty angles, with traces of her red lipstick on his face, and still mostly dressed. And pressing down on her with all of his weight, which was definitely something he'd never done before.  
  
"How's that for a gentleman, huh?" he asked, but the grin slackened into something smaller and more genuine when she pinched his side.  
  
The kiss he gave her then was unhurried, a counterpoint of light and warm to the distant throbbing in her lower half. The knot in her chest that had spooled tighter with every day they'd enacted the same tired routine of Steph'n'Bucky, best pals, both of them slipping up and failing to account for the differences in each other, loosened finally. The smile she gave him was all sorts of dopey.  
  
"I figure we have five minutes to make ourselves look presentable and duck out of here," Steph said quietly.  
  
"Or we have five minutes to enjoy ourselves before we skedaddle," Bucky said. "What're they gonna do, boot Captain America out of the army for fraternization?" He snorted and shook his head, shifting to the side of her on the cot, and they both winced at the awkward disentanglement. He stayed close, though, so close she could see one of his eyelashes was growing crooked.  
  
"You're gonna be scrubbing latrines with your toothbrush with that attitude," Steph said, but she didn't really mind. "And you look awful silly, laying around with your privates out."

Bucky smothered a laugh against her shoulder. "Yeah, all right. _Privates_ , jeeze." He pushed himself up then, and Steph regretted making the joke if it meant he was actually going to go along with it. "I once heard you tell Bobby Michaelson you were gonna rip his dick off like a wet piece of paper, and now you're shy?"  
  
Steph sighed and sat up too. Usually when she did, the room spun, or she had to take a second to catch her breath, but everything was business as usual. She started buttoning up her costume.

"I'm not shy," she said, frowning and finishing up the last of the buttons. "I let you screw me in the middle of the camp, and that was _after_ you gave me the cold shoulder for a week."  
  
She saw Bucky stiffen, and he shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Wasn't sure if you and I was something that was on the table, what with Captain America and Agent Carter and all."  
  
"We're always on the table, Barnes. In my real body, in this one—you and me."  
  
Bucky's face lifted in a smile for a moment, but then he was back to playing it off, hands smoothing down his wrecked hair. "Well, I know that now, don't I?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure all the guys know it now," she said ruefully. "They watched you follow me in here like a hungry dog. It's the skirt, right?" she asked, adjusting the clothing in question until she was sure it covered everything it needed to.  
  
"I promise you, Steph, it ain't the skirt."  
  
The look in his eyes could have ignited kindling, but she just shook her head at him and glanced around the rickety barracks she and the commandos had been specially delegated. "Hey, help me find my pantyhose, would you?"

 


End file.
